


indulgence

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Cigars, Dirty Talk, M/M, Slut Shaming, Stink Kink, ball worship, hair fucking, sweat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-20
Updated: 2018-04-20
Packaged: 2019-04-25 09:23:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14375832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: “You think your daddy would still be proud of you, if he knew what you got up to at night?”McCree’s voice is mean, sharp like the blunt nails that he digs into his fistful of silky black hair, and Hanzo loves it.





	indulgence

“You think your daddy would still be proud of you, if he knew what you got up to at night?”

McCree’s voice is mean, sharp like the blunt nails that he digs into his fistful of silky black hair, and Hanzo loves it. 

He’s on his knees for the cowboy, his head tilted back by McCree’s hold and his mouth open, tongue out like a dog; and sitting in the chair above him is McCree, with his spread legs and his thick thighs and his heavy, hairy balls, the girthy length of his cock, laid out for Hanzo to feast upon.

And feast, he does.

McCree’s hand stays in his hair, but it’s more as a show of possession than out of any need to urge the other man on--Hanzo plants his hands on McCree’s thighs and leans in, burying his face in the hot juncture of McCree’s groin and drawing in a lungful of musky air made humid with sweat. McCree glances down at him and snorts, pulling the cigar out from between his teeth.

“You’re nasty, Shimada. I’ve been on the run--you know how long it’s been since I’ve washed my nuts?” He flicks the cigar and watches the trail of ash rain down onto Hanzo’s bare shoulder, grinning at the man’s shudder, at the muffled, pained groan that leaves him. 

But the silence--relative silence, considering that Hanzo is still making little snuffling noises in the space between McCree’s legs as he noses around the sweat-damp skin--is not answer enough. McCree’s grip turns to iron and he yanks Hanzo’s head back, his eyes meeting Hanzo’s own glassy, dazed ones.

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

“I…” Hanzo swallows a mouthful of spit and sweat and tries again, his voice strained. “I don’t know. They stink like it’s been weeks…”

“Somethin’ like that, yeah. And here you are, gettin’ high off it.” McCree pulls Hanzo back in, rubbing his face against the meat of his cock and making sure to drag his balls over the ninja’s dignified nose, his high-boned cheeks. Once he’s certain that he’s covered Hanzo’s regal face in his sweat and musk, he lets go of his hair and leans back, tucking his cigar back between his lips. “I think they need a good bath. Get to it.”

Hanzo surges forward at the command, his hands digging into McCree’s thighs to brace himself as he leans in and starts to lick over the swell of McCree’s balls. Each drag of his tongue over the hairy sack has him moaning, his mouth flooded with the sour tang of old sweat and McCree’s heady musk; and he licks like he’s ravenous for the taste of McCree’s unwashed skin, his tongue cradling and laving over each testicle in turn, mouth opening wide so he can stuff the heavy sack between his lips with shaking fingertips.

“That’s not bad,” McCree says, flicking his cigar in Hanzo’s face--and the ash has to hurt as it settles in Hanzo’s dark lashes, as it smears in the roots of his hair, but the only noise that leaves him is a desperate-sounding whine as McCree’s big hand pulls him backward. His balls leave Hanzo’s mouth with an audible, wet pop, his lips slightly swollen and shining with spit; and McCree completely ignores them, instead wrapping a stretch of dark, silky hair around his fist and jerking Hanzo close again.

“But ‘not bad’ ain’t good enough--and if you’re too dumb to do it right, then I’ll do it my damn self.”

Before Hanzo can react, he’s moved again, pulled forward with the motion of McCree’s hand; and out of the corner of his eye he can just barely see McCree, his hand wrapped tight around his cock and jerking the stiff length in quick pulls with the silky strands of Hanzo’s hair caught between.

“I knew as soon as I saw you that you were a whore,” McCree says, rolling his cigar to the side of his mouth as he keeps jerking off with the dark tresses of Hanzo’s hair. “Knew that you were a slut made to clean balls and worship cock, and that you just needed a firm hand to make you see it...ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” Hanzo chokes, his voice a weak, gasping thing; and he loses himself in the quick, steady rocking motion that McCree forces him into, everything that isn’t the stink of McCree’s balls slapping up against his nose or the pulling of his hair fading away into the background. 

When McCree does cum, it shocks Hanzo out of his reverie--the first hot pulse of seed flecks over Hanzo’s eye, clumping his lashes together and making him wince. He can feel where the rest of McCree’s spend goes; can feel each thick string of cum shoot against his scalp, making his hair bundle together in wet clumps. When McCree pulls away it’s Hanzo that is left gasping, his cock rock hard between his thighs and dribbling pre-cum, glassy eyes fixed on the floor and seeing nothing.

“Eh. Well. That was underwhelming.” McCree cranes Hanzo’s neck back and wipes the tip of his cock off against Hanzo’s cheek, smearing away any lingering cum against his slack lips and soft skin. Once he’s satisfied with his cleanliness, he tucks himself back into his pants and stands up.

“Nice office, though.” McCree grabs his hat off the desk and flicks the end of his cigar onto the floor, then uses his heel to grind it out, smearing ash into the pale carpet. “Think I’ll fuck you in it sometime.”


End file.
